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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098873">The Travellers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/renesaramis/pseuds/renesaramis'>renesaramis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Travellers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Morality, Gen, Suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:13:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/renesaramis/pseuds/renesaramis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Where is Louis?</b><br/>Aramis is dead, the King is missing, and Milady is harbouring a secret that may change everyone's lives forever.</p><p>Maybe the question isn't where, but <i>when.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Travellers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. O — Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Beta read by the lovely Anima Nightmate.<br/>Also thanks to Max and Enigma for encouraging me to write this, and for dealing with my sporadic infodumping.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>If I never become what I am meant to be, but always remain what I am not, I shall spend eternity contradicting myself by being at once something and nothing, a life that wants to live and is dead, a death that wants to be dead and cannot quite achieve its own death because it still has to exist.</p>
  <p>Thomas Merton</p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p class="wriitng">
  <span class="u"><strong>5 May 1642</strong> </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="wriitng">Louis’s hand closes over the door handle, and he chews his lip, indecisive.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He shouldn’t open the door. Maman has told him far too often that the First Minister isn’t to be disturbed when he’s working. But, he argues, it’s been <em>hours</em>. Dinner has been and gone, and Maman looked worried when she realised that he was still working and wasn’t going to join them, even though they’ve always eaten together since Papa died.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He should be in bed. Maman tucked him up and promised the First Minister would eat with them for his birthday breakfast tomorrow, but he wants to see him <em>now</em>. He wants to know what kind of work could possibly be so important that Monsieur Aramis forgot to eat dinner; why this work can’t just wait until tomorrow, or the day after, to finish.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He shouldn’t open the door, but he does anyway.</p>
<p class="wriitng">Aramis is sat at his desk, but not busy with papers, as Louis imagined he would be. His fingers are limply grasping an empty glass of wine, and his eyes stare hazily across the room, not looking at Louis but out of the dark window, as if he is focused on something out there, but his eyes are unfocused and blind. Not a single muscle in his body reacts to the King’s entrance.</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Aramis?’</p>
<p class="wriitng">Nothing.</p>
<p class="wriitng">Louis edges cautiously from the doorway and into the room, the heels of his feet barely touching the floor as he approaches the First Minister’s desk. ‘Aramis, why didn’t you come to dinner today? Maman and Philippe missed you. <em>I </em>missed you.’</p>
<p class="wriitng">Aramis says nothing, and the young King frowns.</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Didn’t you miss us?’ he asks, taking another step. The floorboards creak beneath his feet, the way Aramis has always been able to tell when someone enters the office without knocking. But today his head doesn’t snap in the direction of the door, and he doesn’t rise to greet the King.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He’s still staring at the window, unmoving.</p>
<p class="wriitng">Slowly, Louis reaches the desk and reaches for the glass in Aramis’ hand. As he pulls the glass away, the First Minister’s arm falls limply onto the desk with a thud. It is then that Louis notices he hasn’t blinked, hasn’t reacted to the King’s movements at all.</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Aramis?’ he whimpers. ‘This isn’t funny. Stop it.’ His grip on the glass slackens, and it tilts forward; a drop of red liquid drips onto the floor like blood. ‘It’s not funny anymore, Aramis. <em>Please</em>. Say something.’</p>
<p class="wriitng">Aramis’s lips are the same colour of whatever was in the glass, and it falls from Louis’ hand, shattering across the floor, crunching under his shoes as he steps away in panic.</p>
<p class="wriitng">Louis screams.</p>
<p class="wriitng">His eyes close involuntarily — he doesn’t want to see this, doesn’t want to <em>comprehend </em>what it is he’s seeing, because if he didn’t see it then it won’t be real; this will be a nightmare, and he’ll wake up now, and Aramis, <em>his </em>Aramis, and Maman, they’ll come rushing in, hushing him, holding him tight — but he feels cold and afraid, and he screams again.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He thinks, maybe, he has heard Maman’s footsteps down the hallway, but he flinches anyway when the door opens. Now that the shock is dissipating, the tears come thick and fast, together with his frightened cries.</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Maman!’</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Louis … Louis …’</p>
<p class="wriitng">Maman is holding him, but he can barely move; hardly breathe. Aramis is looking at him. He’s not looking at Maman. He’s looking at <em>Louis</em>, firm and determined, even though neither of them can see each other. And the King, not even turned eleven yet, clutching at Maman’s nightgown as terror shakes him, feels like part of him has died with Aramis, as if the Minister had given an arm or a leg to him, and now it doesn’t work without him.</p>
<p class="wriitng">Maman is crying.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He can hear her quiet sniffling, trying to be brave for him. <em>You don’t have to be brave</em>, he wants to say, but he finds he’s all out of words. He’s looking for things in an empty cupboard, hoping they’ll turn up, even though he knows the cupboard is empty.</p>
<p class="wriitng">Louis doesn’t remember Maman composing herself, not daring to look in Aramis’s direction; he doesn’t remember being carried to his bedroom, or the shards of glass being brushed from beneath his slippers.</p>
<p class="wriitng">There are questions that a King should be thinking now: who will be my First Minister? Who will help me run this country the best I can?</p>
<p class="wriitng">Even before the funeral, he will be expected to choose. But how can he, when the perfect man for the job is dead? The man who helped raise him for the past four years; the man who his mother fell in love with; the man who gave him a baby brother; the man who became like a second father to him.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He wraps his arms around Maman again; they are sat on his bed, where he’s half-curled against her, some part of him is sat on her lap the way he used to when he was littler and lighter and he missed Papa or Treville, or he had a nightmare.</p>
<p class="wriitng">She smells warm and safe, and they hold each other as he buries his face against her shoulder, and she cries quietly into his hair. Louis doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to make her feel better — how can he?</p>
<p class="wriitng">Aramis is dead.</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Why would he do that?’ Louis cries suddenly. ‘Why would he … <em>kill himself</em>?’</p>
<p class="wriitng">Maman shudders, grasping him tighter. ‘Don’t.’</p>
<p class="wriitng">All the questions he has for her burn in his mind, but he doesn’t let the fire spill from his lips. The questions can wait, as much as he doesn’t want them to, as much as he wants to beg Maman to tell him everything.</p>
<p class="wriitng">She knows as much as he does.</p>
<p class="wriitng">His eyes are sore with crying; he closes them, hoping to relieve a little of the pressure. What is he going to do now? What will Philippe do without <em>his </em>father? Louis was just a little older when he lost Papa, and to lose not one father, but two …</p>
<p class="wriitng">He hadn’t realised Aramis was like Papa until now.</p>
<p class="wriitng">And now it’s too late.</p>
<p class="wriitng"><em>He’s </em>too late. There’s no more time to spend with him.</p>
<p class="wriitng"><em>People say they have time, but that’s not true. It’s time that has us. </em>Maybe <em>this</em> is what Aramis meant. Maybe he <em>knew</em>. Maybe he <em>planned</em> all of this.</p>
<p class="wriitng">But <em>why</em>?</p>
<p class="wriitng">‘Why did he have to go?’ Louis whispers aloud, and Maman squeezes him again. She leans down to kiss his forehead and a tear brushes against his cheek, cold and damp. He lets it settle there, a permanent resident beneath his skin, a reminder that he will never forget this day.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He will never forget the grief on Maman’s face, the sorrow in her eyes.</p>
<p class="wriitng">He swears, then and there, he will do anything to make sure she never has that look in her eyes again.</p>
<p class="wriitng">No matter what it takes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Next Chapter:</b> Aramis's funeral, and Louis finds a strange letter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I — Beginnings and Endings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Beta-read by the amazing Anima Nightmate.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>But all endings are also beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time.</p>
  <p>Mitch Albom, <em>The Five People You Meet in Heaven</em></p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <span class="u"><strong>21 May 1642</strong> </span>
</p><hr/><p>There are rumours flying around, as there are bound to be. Some say the First Minister was poisoned. Others say he was dying and chose to keep it secret.</p><p>None of them tell the truth, and for that Maman must only be relieved.</p><p>The day of Aramis’s funeral approaches too quickly for Louis’s liking. Philippe is clutching onto Maman’s hand but Louis hovers, cautious, in front of the coffin, finally letting go of Maman. Part of him wants to turn back to her, uncertain, seeking her comfort, but he swallows it down. There will be time for that later.</p><p>He feels much older than his ten years right now.</p><p>Louis finally dares to look at the body, laying pale in the coffin. Aramis is dressed in the first outfit he ever wore as the King’s First Minister; a blue leather outfit, partially covered by his old Musketeer cape, which is currently doubling as a blanket.</p><p>Maman kept telling him that he would look like he was sleeping. But Aramis doesn’t look like he’s sleeping at all.</p><p>He looks dead.</p><p>He <em>is </em>dead.</p><p>Louis turns his head to look at Maman; she’s crying, silently, but it’s enough to assure him that if <em>he </em>were to cry too, that would be allowed. He expects, any moment now, that his eyes will grow misty as they usually do when he begins to cry, and his shoulders will shake, and he will be seized with the need to rush into Maman’s arms …</p><p>But none of that comes.</p><p>Instead, he pulls his head higher, taken by some strength he didn’t know he possessed, and turns to take his seat on the front pew.</p><p>He squirms next to d’Artagnan’s son, who’s a good two years older than him. Lucas pats his knee, which Louis takes to either mean <em>I’m sorry</em> or perhaps <em>it’s okay</em>, or maybe even <em>I miss him too</em>, since Aramis was Lucas’s sort-of uncle, but he doesn’t know for definite. He doesn’t really understand Lucas — Constance and d’Artagnan say his head isn’t well, which doesn’t make sense to him because he doesn’t <em>look </em>sick — but he follows Louis around and plays games that Philippe’s too young to play, and that suits him just fine.</p><p>Maman comes to sit next to him then, Philippe wriggling unhappily in her arms; he doesn’t quite understand that Aramis is gone, that he’s never coming back. He won’t remember this, either. He won’t remember Maman’s tears or having Aramis’s death explained to him. It will just be a fact of life that his father is dead, and he might not ever remember him being alive.</p><p>Louis doesn’t remember Papa’s funeral. He barely remembers <em>Papa</em>. There’s not much left of him in his mind anymore, not his voice or his smile; only shadows of a man who was once the centre of Louis’s life.</p><p>‘We are gathered here to celebrate the life of René d’Herblay, known to most as Aramis, First Minister of France …’</p><p>Louis shudders. It feels as though someone is watching him, but he shakes the thought off. Everyone is sat behind him, so of course it would feel like they were.</p><p>They <em>aren’t </em>watching him.</p><p>‘… and served as a Musketeer for His Majesty, the late King of France, for a great number of years …’</p><p>Discreetly, Louis turns his head, but there is nobody there, except Athos, who he thinks might be crying, his wife Sylvie, who is holding little Raoul in her arms; and at the back is Milady, who Louis suspects does not think she would be welcome.</p><p>He tries to hide a smile.</p><p>Aramis liked Milady.</p><p>He must have, because he always told Louis that she was someone he could trust. Aramis liked Milady, and that means Louis should like Milady too, even if she <em>is </em>hiding at the back of the church at her own friend’s funeral.</p><p>‘ … Athos …’</p><p>Louis hears shuffling behind him, and Athos approaches the altar. Raoul whimpers quietly, and suddenly Louis stiffens. The urge to turn and run is almost overwhelming, but it is nothing compared to the guilt that swims in his stomach when he realises that Athos can’t even look at him.</p><p>As if <em>he’s </em>the one to blame.</p><p>As if <em>he </em>killed Aramis.</p><p>He stares at his knees as Athos pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. Maman asked him if <em>he </em>wanted to speak, but all he could think about when she asked him was Aramis’s lifeless eyes, and he’d shook his head and scurried off to his bedroom.</p><p>‘<em>Departed comrade. Thou, redeemed from pain</em> …’</p><p>Now, he doesn’t know whether he was right to turn down the offer. Would Aramis have liked him to speak? Would it have made him happy to hear the King talk about how he excelled as First Minister?</p><p>‘… <em>shall sleep the sleep that kings desire in vain</em> …’</p><p>Doing that would have been stupid, anyway, because Louis doesn’t want to stand up and talk about Aramis the First Minister.</p><p>‘… <em>not thine for the sense of loss</em> …’</p><p>He wants to talk about <em>his </em>Aramis; the Aramis who told him about being a Musketeer; the Aramis who snuck snacks into his bedroom when Maman told him it was time for bed; the Aramis he <em>loved</em>.</p><p>‘… <em>but lo, for us the void</em> …’</p><p>Except it isn’t past tense.</p><p>‘… <em>that shall never be filled again</em> …’</p><p>He still loves Aramis.</p><p>‘… <em>all pain is fled from thee</em> …’</p><p>Athos’s voice isn’t steady anymore; it’s trembling in an almost unnoticeable rumble that sits in his throat. Philippe has gone silent, and Louis can hear Maman trying to quieten her cries, so he gently reaches for her hand; she grasps it desperately, as though he and Philippe are the only things she has left in the world.</p><p>‘… <em>and we are weeping in thy stead</em> …’</p><p>Part of him doesn’t feel like he’s really here. It’s as if he’s split in two, and the other half of his soul is lost, perhaps, lingering, trapped. Some part of him hovers in between life and death; he feels simultaneously as though he’s dying himself, but then he remembers just how alive he is, and he isn’t sure where he really is.</p><p>‘… <em>tears for the mourners who are left behind</em> …’</p><p>Some part of him, he thinks, is in that coffin with Aramis.</p><p>‘… <em>peace everlasting for the quiet dead</em>.’</p><p>Louis wishes he could rip off his crown and throw it to the floor. It weighs his head down, turns him into a very small man, when in reality he’s more of a big <em>boy</em>, one that he isn’t allowed to be outside of Maman and Aramis’s company.</p><p>Or just Maman’s, now that Aramis’s company no longer exists.</p><p>Someone clears their throat, and Louis listens to Athos’s footsteps and heavy breathing as he takes his seat. Raoul, the only happy person in the room — even Marie-Cessette is solemn today — squeals and Sylvie must hand him over because Athos grunts quietly as the child squirms and ignores his father’s hushed tones.</p><p>The someone that cleared their throat begins to speak.</p><p>Porthos.</p><p>‘Aramis … was not just my friend. He was my brother, in all but blood. He always had my back; no matter the circumstances, I always knew … he’d be there, watching out for me.’</p><p>Louis’s hand tightens around Maman’s.</p><p>‘It’s the way we were, as Musketeers. We weren’t just soldiers.’ Porthos sniffs loudly, and this time it is Maman who squeezes Louis’s hand. ‘We were <em>family</em>. People called us the Inseparables … never one of us without the other.’</p><p>Louis finally works up the courage to lift his eyes from his lap. Porthos’s eyes are watery, and he smiles somewhat; it’s genuine and mournful, but something hopeful lingers beneath his lips.</p><p>‘If you’re sat here today, to Aramis, you were family. Whether you were related by blood or not … you were his family. And … he would be glad that he meant as much to you as you did to him.’</p><p>Louis is relieved, despite himself, when the priest returns to the altar. Is it so bad that he just wants to go home, to hold Maman and Philippe? He hates that what he wants isn’t even <em>possible </em>anymore. He’ll have to speak to people; humour them about the Aramis he’s supposed to talk about; eat even though that’s the last thing he wants to do right now; look Athos and Porthos and d’Artagnan in the eyes while they mourn their best friend …</p><p>Is this how Papa felt when Cardinal Richelieu died?</p><p>Except <em>Papa</em> was a grown-up. Papa wasn’t ten.</p><p>Louis wishes he was older right now … maybe then he’d know what to do and how to act.</p><p>Maman’s hand rests comfortingly on his shoulder as they leave the church. As King, he’s supposed to be the first to leave — but Milady seems to have already left. He glances at the seat she’d been occupying, wondering when she’d left — and <em>how </em>she’d done it without making a sound.</p><p>Louis has the feeling that nobody knows she was here, either.</p><p>The wake is quiet, much to his relief. D’Artagnan and Constance don’t talk much, although Constance <em>does </em>quietly remark how much Louis has grown, which seems silly considering they saw each other not even three weeks ago. Lucas pats Louis’s shoulder and then his own before he breaks out into a little smile.</p><p>‘Going,’ he says brightly. ‘Home.’</p><p>Louis shakes his head. ‘Not yet. Maybe later,’ he suggests, knowing the d’Artagnans would rather stay to honour Aramis as long as they can.</p><p>‘Soon.’</p><p>He nods. ‘Soon.’</p><p>Louis rubs his arm awkwardly. Why can’t he be <em>normal</em>, he thinks suddenly, and not have to do all of this? If he weren’t King, and Maman wasn’t Queen Regent, they could live somewhere quiet, and nobody would bother him about Aramis or about any revolts near the Pyrenees. Just Maman and Philippe and Louis.</p><p>And Aramis.</p><p>Maybe none of this would have happened if he weren’t First Minister. Maybe, if Maman hadn’t asked Aramis to take Treville’s place, he wouldn’t be dead.</p><p>‘It’s not <em>fair</em>,’ he says suddenly, aloud.</p><p>‘I know, kid. I’m sorry.’</p><p>Louis didn’t expect anyone to be close enough to hear — Lucas won’t understand, so he doesn’t count — but Porthos is looking fondly at him, and when he speaks again, he sounds as though he’s restraining himself.</p><p>‘Aramis loved you very much.’</p><p>‘Not <em>that</em>,’ he says, catching himself before he begins to whine. ‘I mean … all of <em>this</em>. Why can’t I tell the truth? Why can’t I say that <em>I </em>love Aramis too?’ And then the bitter words he’s been thinking all day, perhaps even all month, force themselves from his lips.</p><p>‘I wish I was normal.’</p><p>Porthos chuckles darkly. ‘Trust me, kid, being “normal” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’ He puts both hands on Louis’s shoulders, suddenly regretting his words when the child shrinks into himself. ‘Being like everyone else comes with its downsides,’ he explains, his tone gentler.</p><p>‘Why does everyone think I’m special?’ Louis asks quietly, looking up to Porthos. ‘I’m not special. I’m just … <em>me</em>.’</p><p>Porthos swallows. He tries to think of something comforting to say, but nothing comes to mind; he opens his mouth and closes it again.</p><p>‘I’m a little boy.’</p><p>And Louis is <em>right</em>. King or not, he’s still a little boy. Little boys should be playing in the streets, not having crowns put on their heads.</p><p>The child pulls himself from Porthos’s grasp, trying to blink away a set of tears that have appeared against his will. He is, for the first time, thankful that Maman insisted on having the wake in the Palace; without even thinking he bolts from the room, eyes blurring, relying on instinct alone to get him to his quarters.</p><p>He leans breathlessly against his bedroom door as he slams it shut, his legs almost giving way as a sob shakes his entire body.</p><p>He wants Aramis here.</p><p>He wants Aramis here right now, and he hates that no matter how much he wants it, nothing is going to bring Aramis back to him.</p><p>Louis sniffs loudly — undignified of a King, he can hear his tutor saying in his head already — and uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes. Nobody is watching. What does it matter if he does something undignified? It’s not as though the soldier on his bedside table will tell anybody.</p><p>It is then that he notices it.</p><p>Something brown sits next to the soldier.</p><p>He doesn’t remember leaving anything there before the funeral. Louis sniffs again, but grief and longing have given way to confusion; he approaches the table and reaches out a hand. An envelope neatly addressed to <em>Louis</em>.</p><p>It’s Aramis’s handwriting, he realises, and his heart leaps in his chest. Fear churns in his stomach, and he hesitates. He suddenly doesn’t want to open it. The letter inside … this will be the last thing Aramis ever says to him. This will be the last time he ever gets to read anything Aramis has written.</p><p>If he opens the envelope, it’s all over. It’s real; more real than even the funeral.</p><p>Envelope still in his hands, Louis sinks to the floor, running his finger across the way Aramis has written his name, frowning when the ink smudges onto his hand.</p><p>Swallowing down the ensemble of dread, anxiety and fear, he rips open the envelope and pulls out the letter inside.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Louis,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>By the time you open this letter, your life will have changed irrevocably, forever. For that, I can only apologise. If I could have found a way of stopping it, I would have done so by now.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have to tell you a few things that might seem confusing, or frightening.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The first is this: I am not only Philippe’s father. This may be a shock, but I am yours too. I am sorry that I have had to lie to you for so long, and for me to die without you ever knowing the truth. I would have loved for you to know sooner, if it were possible.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The second is that things are going to change, more than they already have. You will not understand why yet, but you will know when they do, for reasons I am unable to explain. All I can offer you is a pitiful apology — I have tried to stop it, but I cannot change what is about to happen. I know this does not make much sense to you, but I ensure you will understand soon enough.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The third is something that cannot be told through a letter, since you will find this even more confusing than what I have attempted to explain to you above. Therefore, I humbly request that you visit the tunnels at exactly ten o’clock post meridiem on the fifth of August.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That is all I am permitted to say. The rest, you must find out for yourself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I trust you will keep this quiet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do not forget.</em>
</p><p>The letter is signed hastily with a scrawled <em>A</em>, as if Aramis forgot to sign it and remembered at the last second, or he was rushing …</p><p>Louis swallows thickly, trying not to remember the circumstances which caused Aramis to write such a letter. Or — or should he be calling Aramis <em>Papa</em>? How is that even <em>possible</em>, anyway — unless Maman and Aramis were in love with each other before Papa … <em>Louis </em>died?</p><p>He stares ahead, bewildered. The letter falls from his hands and, instinctively, he pushes it under the bed. What does any of it even <em>mean</em>? He doesn’t understand. Nothing makes sense.</p><p>Why would he have written such a cryptic suicide note? And if Aramis has written to <em>him</em>, what about Maman? Did Maman get her own letter, too? And if she <em>does </em>have one, did Aramis ask her to keep it secret too?</p><p>Louis groans, burying his head in his hands. What is it the letter says — to go to the tunnels? That was the place Aramis told him to go if anything bad ever happened.</p><p>Is he going to be in trouble?</p><p>Is <em>that </em>why Aramis killed himself — because he thought he wouldn’t be able to protect him and Maman and Philippe?</p><p>It seems that there is only one way to find out what it all means.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <span class="u">5 August 1642</span> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>3 months after Aramis’s suicide</em>
</p><hr/><p>Nothing seems out of the ordinary when Maman puts him to bed, and Louis is very much relieved. It’s been hard enough keeping Aramis’s letter secret as it is; he didn’t want to give anything away at the last minute.</p><p>He lays in bed, eyes wide, counting Maman’s steps from the room and down the corridor. He’s already planned his exit: in the opposite direction, through the large window at the end of the hallway. If he closes it behind him it’ll be like he never left, and he’ll be able to get out and back in without alerting any of the guards to his little escapade.</p><p>He glances at the timepiece on his dresser: it’s somewhere between nine-forty-five and nine-fifty, and the sun is beginning to set. It feels almost foreboding, and Louis shivers.</p><p>Why does he get the feeling something bad is about to happen?</p><p>But Aramis’s letter said he <em>had </em>to go, and it would be wrong not to trust his First Minister, even if Mazarin is his new Minister now. Mazarin doesn’t understand him like Aramis did, especially not now Louis knows the secret.</p><p>Aramis was his papa, and his papa would <em>never </em>have done anything to harm him.</p><p>He watches the timepiece hand tick and turn, and tick and turn, and tick …</p><p>Maman should be far from sight now, probably checking in on Philippe even though she put him to bed an hour ago. He sits up in bed and pulls off the covers, which thankfully did their job in hiding the linen shirt and brown breeches he’s wearing — light enough to be cool, and plain enough to disguise him as someone other than the King, if worst comes to worst and he needs to hide himself.</p><p>Aramis <em>did </em>say things were about to change … and he never said whether they’d be for better or for worse.</p><p>But what did he know that nobody else does? How did he know enough to warn Louis three months in advance? Why not tell anyone else? What about Maman, and Philippe … or the rest of the Inseparables?</p><p>They were Aramis’s best friends. Has he kept <em>them </em>in the dark, too?</p><p>Louis swallows. It’s almost ten o’clock.</p><p>He slips from his bed and quietly puts on the pair of court shoes he wore yesterday. They’re a little uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to open his wardrobe and make any noises that might draw the attention of any palace guards. His bedroom door doesn’t creak when he opens it; someone must’ve finally got around to oiling it, because it wasn’t like that yesterday. The window is already open, and Louis figures Maman must’ve opened it before she left; the corridor was far too hot when she put him to bed.</p><p>He climbs almost noiselessly out of the window, landing in the grass with an <em>oof</em> he hopes was quiet. Aramis taught him this method of getting to the tunnels ages ago, in case he couldn’t go through the palace to get to them. He follows the walls of the palace carefully; although there are guards stationed outside, many of them seem to be changing positions. He’s never really watched them change before, and he’s entranced for a moment before he remembers he has things to do.</p><p>Finally, he spots a small mound of grass close to the wall. He’s not far from what must be the servants’ quarters, and behind the mound is a lowered patch of earth … and a door.</p><p>Louis taps it twice before entering. He’s not sure why Aramis taught him to do that, but it’s the last thing on his mind when he steps through into the almost-darkness. The tunnel smells damp and musty, but flames crackle invitingly from the torches lit along the passageway. For a moment, Louis wonders who lights the torches if the tunnels are supposed to be secret, or barely ever used.</p><p>But his thoughts disappear into the darkness when a shadow steps out from behind one of the tunnel’s many twists and turns. The figure approaches him, the light from the torches showing flowing brown hair, a blue gown, and a crucifix around his neck …</p><p>Louis’s heart stutters; his mouth feels dry, as though he’s been swallowing sand.</p><p>‘Aramis?’ he chokes out, taking him in again. He looks exhausted, face pale and contorted in an emotion Louis doesn’t understand.</p><p>Louis doesn’t understand <em>anything</em>.</p><p>Aramis is dead. Should be dead. He saw him … in the coffin. He was certainly dead then.</p><p>‘You’re dead,’ he says quietly. ‘How — how did you …?’</p><p>Aramis, apparently not dead, shakes his head and laughs. He’s nervous, but Louis doesn’t understand why. ‘I thought you’d remember what I taught you,’ he says. ‘The question isn’t how.’</p><p>The child’s eyes widen. ‘It’s when.’ Then, when Aramis doesn’t respond, his expression changes into something of a reserved curiosity. ‘Why are you here? What’s happening?’</p><p>Again, Aramis is silent. He reaches for Louis’s hand, gentle, and the child is surprised to find that Aramis’s palms are smoother than they once were.</p><p>‘Why did you do it?’ he demands. ‘Why would you fake your own death like that? You upset me, Aramis. And Maman. She’s so <em>sad</em>, Aramis.’</p><p>Aramis freezes, and swallows. Immediately, Louis regrets his words. It looks as though Aramis might cry.</p><p>‘It’s all right,’ he continues, softer this time. ‘You can come home. We can fix this. Maman will forgive you, I promise. Were you scared? Did something bad happen?’</p><p>Aramis shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice sounds clipped in a fruitless attempt to hide the emotion behind his words. ‘We don’t have much time, Louis. We have to go.’ He guides them both forward, around the corner where he must’ve been waiting before Louis arrived, and further and further down the passage until they reach a small door. Wordlessly, Aramis opens the door, and for the first time since he entered the tunnel, Louis’s shock dissipates enough to be able to feel something other than confusion.</p><p>‘What’s going on?’ he says shakily, allowing Aramis to guide him through the door.</p><p>‘You’ll be safe here,’ says Aramis. His voice sounds far away, as if he’s at the other end of the tunnel, which is silly because they’re both sat right next to each other. They’re together, just like Louis wanted. ‘You’re safe now. Tomorrow everything will be all right.’</p><p>Strangely, this doesn’t comfort Louis. In fact, it frightens him more than anything. It sounds as though Aramis has <em>rehearsed </em>those words. They’re empty. Instinctively, Louis looks up to his father. His eyes are blank and the second they’ve looked at him, Aramis turns to look elsewhere.</p><p>Why can’t he look at him? Why can’t he look at his <em>son</em>?</p><p>Aramis closes the door, shrouding them both in darkness. He pulls Louis closer, pulling them both down so that they are sitting, leant against a wall he can no longer see.</p><p>‘Try to rest,’ comes Aramis’s voice. ‘Everything will make sense tomorrow.’</p><p>Louis shudders. ‘Am I sick?’ he wonders aloud. He surely must be, because none of this can possibly be real. Or perhaps this is a dream. He’ll wake up tomorrow, in bed, and Maman will tell him he had a bad fever, and he was imagining things that weren’t real.</p><p>‘Maybe,’ says Aramis gruffly. ‘Maybe we’re both sick. I don’t know anymore.’</p><p>Aramis sounds so unsure, so afraid, that Louis thinks this must be a dream. Aramis was always sure of himself, and if he wasn’t, he would never have said so to <em>him</em>. Perhaps to Maman, but not Louis.</p><p>There, then, he thinks. None of this is real.</p><p>He must make the most of it.</p><p>Louis leans against Aramis’s chest and, hesitantly, the man pulls him closer, wrapping one arm around him.</p><p>This is a lovely dream; he thinks at last; I hope I have the same one tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Next chapter:</b> Anne has terrible news for the Musketeers, and Louis wakes up to a Paris he doesn't recognise.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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